In Studio City the hummingbird
Sucks from the stamens.
The kitchen is silent. Outside, the sky
Of L.A. has been baked of its demons.
The tuberose blooms to remind of tomorrow's
Petals on the surface of the swimming pool.
The pool wall drops stilts to waiting earthquakes.
Everyone's off making films today. A kestrel
Hovers. We cannot do great things
But only small things with great love.
To travel is to be still. Then sunset
Highlights tenderly all the flight paths above.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed, We cannot do great things/But only small things with great love. Then small things become great because love is what the whole universe is based on.